Who are you?

Who am I?

What kind of question is that?

I'm not as outgoing as I seem.

I just want people to like me,

To want to get to know the real me.

Don't we all want that?

But the moment I open up

They leave.

They leave because they are afraid.

I'm not supposed to be who I am.

Dare I say?

Different?

Do I beg you to go?

Or plead you to stay?

Will you actually ever accept me?

I'm outgoing because I've seen the girls with the big smile

Get the better ending.

What would you say if I told you I'm shy?

Shocking isn't it?

Get me alone.

Talk to me at midnight.

See that I'm not this happy.

Who would have guessed right?

Pretty smile.

Sad mind.

Broken tears.

Perhaps you wouldn't know how broken someone is.

Because we take one look at someone and judge them.

"She wears leggings she's a slut."

"She's had a lot of boyfriends, what a whore."

"His fashion sense is too keen, I bet he's gay."

"Do you hear how high his voice is? Is he gay?"

I don't know why I am the way I am.

I don't know why I'm so anxious.

And scared all the time.

I hate it.

I can't be normal because I'm awkward.

I don't even mean the sense of normal.

Not the boring kind.

The kind that just fits in.

I can't be awkward

Because it freaks people out.

What a freak.

I don't know what to do.

I scare people away by accident...

But none of that matters.

How the hell are we supposed to know who we are?

When all that really matters is how people see us?

Who am I?

I'm the loud girl that's really quiet and shy.

I'm the one who sees the best in everyone.

Except myself.

I'm the girl he never noticed.

Take a drag from a fake cigarette

And ask me who I am?

I'm no one

Yet I'm everyone.

I have the pretty smile.

The fun laugh.

The kind heart.

But, I have the sad mind.

The heart that is strung together by few strands.

The laugh that is held back, in fear of what people think.

No one actually knows who they are.

There is no freedom until we are equal.

How silly is that?

We are looked at and people judge us by rumors.

Rumor one.

Rumor two.

Which one is true?

Definitely not the truth.

"She's hot I like her."

"She's dorky, she's just a friend."

"He's beautiful, I like the broken feel."

"He's had a lot of girlfriends, I want him."

"He's so nice, he's just a friend.

God take me back.

I have the old soul.

The old heart.

Take me back, to the good old days.

I don't want to be in this generation anymore.

I don't want to be seen as just the smart girl.

She's doesn't want to be seen as a pretty girl.

He doesn't want to be seen as just the football player.

They don't want to be seen as just the stoners.

We live in a geration of labels.

Is this enough?

A broken society filled with broken people.

How dare you ask a question such as this?

How dare you be unique?

How dare...

Be you.

See me for me.

See me for what I am not supposed to be.

See my scars

Feel my pain.

Don't tell me it is all okay.

Everyone who has scars touch them.

Whether they are old or new.

Accept the fact that you were once struggling.

Or that you are still struggling.

The cuts on your wrists, on your hips, and your thighs don't define you.

You're beautiful.

No one deserve this.

No one deserves the scars they have.

Maybe you think they are ugly.

Or, the kid down the hall gave them an odd look.

You are strong.

You have the strength to show that you were once weak.

Run your fingers along the small bumps they made.

Feel that they are there.

Yeah, now they are a part of you.

But now, you're the strongest person in the room.

You understand that they are there.

We live in a society